


Don't Talk To Me Of Love

by Ren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: "Enjolras/Grantaire, post-coital cuddling. Enjolras and Grantaire have hot, steamy sex, (preferably bottom!jolras,) and afterwards they cuddle the shit out of each other."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Talk To Me Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this is my first ~serious~ Les Mis fic. It was supposed to be just cuddles but it kind of got out of hand because Grantaire kept talking at the wrong moment, sorry. I'm also not sure if I've got a good grasp on those characters because I'm trying to reconcile book canon, movie canon and seven different musical productions... therewasanattempt.jpg. Title from _In Paris With You_ by James Fenton.

Enjolras's eyes are closed, his head thrown back to display the gorgeous line of his neck. "More," he says, one hand buried in Grantaire's sweat-damp curls, the other gripping Grantaire's hip hard enough to bruise. His voice, usually so steady and self-assured, is cracking. "I need... faster..."

"Always so bossy," Grantaire groans, biting down where Enjolras's neck meets the shoulder, then licking the spot. It's a sign of how far gone Enjolras is that he doesn't complain about Grantaire leaving marks.

"You love it when I'm bossy," Enjolras says instead, looking up at Grantaire's from between his lashes, shuddering under him. His chest rises and falls with every breath.

It's true, Grantaire does love it, Grantaire loves all of it. Loves having Enjolras spread under him, Greek marble against dark red sheets. Loves how Enjolras fits around him, hot and perfect, loves how Enjolras pulls him closer and whispers obscenities into his skin.

"Come on," Enjolras says, breathless and impatient, but Grantaire is already running his hand over Enjolras's thigh, pushing up Enjolras's knees and hooking them over his own shoulders. The angle's better that way. With the next thrust, Enjolras screams.

Grantaire's hips stutter. "Did it hurt?" he asks, watching his face carefully because Enjolras has never been good at acknowledging his own limits.

Enjolras shakes his head emphatically. "Don't stop," he moans, scraping blunt nails down Grantaire's back. His hips jerk up, trying to match Grantaire's movements. "Fuck, R, don't you dare stop now. So close... God..."

"Thought you weren't religious," says Grantaire, pushing into Enjolras again, choking back a moan of his own. "Something about it being the opium of the people, or is that not Marxist enough for you? I seem to remember the original quote being longer. Then again that's the sad fate of all famous quotes, to be chopped up and watered down before being fed to the masses."

Enjolras smacks Grantaire's ass with the flat of his hand. "Stop talking and fuck me already," he says, and Grantaire does. He fucks Enjolras in short, deep thrusts that leave them both breathless, until Enjolras isn't moaning any more, he's just clinging to Grantaire's shoulders as if he'll break apart if he's not holding on to something.

Grantaire feels close too but doesn't want to come, not just yet, wants to feel Enjolras come undone around him first. Because it's not something that happens very often. Not that Grantaire is unhappy with their usual arrangement of handjobs and blowjobs and Enjolras fucking him into the mattress, but this is good too, this is great, Grantaire wants to make the most of it.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," Grantaire says, fisting one hand into the sheets, almost choking on the words. "You look like a mess... total mess... the thought I'm the one who made you look like that, fuck, Enjolras... you have no idea what it does to me..."

Enjolras's cock is trapped between their bellies. Grantaire shifts a little and takes Enjolras in hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It takes only a few touches to make Enjolras come. He goes over the edge with a muffled cry, spilling all over his body and Grantaire's hand. Grantaire feels Enjolras's muscles clench around him, and it's so tight and so good, so much that he might cry, it's even better than he could have imagined.

It's his voice that does it for Grantaire, though, Enjolras's voice mumbling his name, sounding utterly broken. He thrusts inside Enjolras one more time and comes, shaking and shuddering, with Enjolras's hands on the small of his back keeping him close.

It takes a great effort for Grantaire not to fall over Enjolras when he's finished, but he does. He braces himself on his forearms and slides out of Enjolras, slowly, relishing Enjolras's little hisses and twitches as he does. Enjolras unhooks his legs from Grantaire's shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss, while Grantaire fumbles with the condom and disposes of it.

Grantaire would fetch a towel to clean up the two of them, but Enjolras has one hand tangled in his hair and is rubbing his scalp with soft, absent-minded motions. Leaving the bed is not an option. Grantaire tugs on a corner of the sheets, which are more than a little rumpled by now, and wipes clean Enjolras as best as he can. Enjolras wrinkles his nose at that but doesn't say anything, instead turning his head to leave a trail of kisses along Grantaire's jaw.

Somehow, they manage to manoeuvre themselves down on the pillows. One of Grantaire's arms is wrapped around Enjolras's shoulders and his leg is thrown over Enjolras's, anchoring him into place.

"Marxism," Enjolras says after a while, from somewhere close to Grantaire's ear. "Only you could bring up Marxism during sex."

Grantaire's eyes have drifted shut, but his lips curl into a smile. "Because I know you're the only one who lets me get away with it," he mumbles. He feels boneless, utterly spent, and doesn't plan on moving from the bed in the next forever. He turns his head to nuzzle at Enjolras's shoulder, inhaling the smell of skin and sweat and sex.

Enjolras makes a contented sound, like a cat being petted, and shifts a little under Grantaire's familiar weight. "Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature," he says. Grantaire does open his eyes at that, looks at Enjolras with a blank expression on his face, so Enjolras has to explain. "Marx's full quote. I think it was something like that," he says, scrunching his face in a frown. "It's the soul of a soulless word, it's the heart of... the heart of..."

"Urgh," Grantaire groans, turning his head to kiss Enjolras silent. It will always be a total mystery to him why he's so attracted to this impossible man. "This might come as a shock for you but I couldn't care less about what Marx said," Grantaire says when he has to pull away from Enjolras to breathe. He doesn't like that, so he compensates by touching their foreheads together. "And if you try to leave this bed to google that stupid quote, so help me, I _will_ tackle you to the floor."

Enjolras smiles at that. "I wasn't planning to," he says, still so close that his breath tickles Grantaire's lips. He settles back against the pillows, and Grantaire settles half over the pillows and half over Enjolras, with Enjolras running his fingers down Grantaire's spine.

They don't often do this, lying in bed together and trading lazy kisses, breathing in synch. It's not as if Enjolras ever kicked Grantaire out of bed right after sex, but this behaviour, which in Grantaire's mind is suspiciously similar to cuddling, is strange and unusual. Enjolras gets restless when he's idle, he has an urge to check his phone, replies to urgent emails, looks at the news, jots down notes for the next meeting, replies to emails that aren't urgent on the basis that he might as well do it now.

Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras's neck to stifle a sigh, breathes in the smell of skin and aftershave and sweat and says, "It's okay if you have stuff to do. I know you're physically uncapable of doing nothing for any prolonged amount of time. Or for any amount of time, really."

Enjolras's fingers stop and settle over Grantaire's tailbone. "I'm already doing something," he says, and Grantaire doesn't need to look at him to know that Enjolras is making the face, that little scowl he does when he feels victimized by the world in general and Grantaire in particular.

Usually Grantaire likes getting Enjolras to make the face, but not today. "Sorry," Grantaire snorts, "but cuddling seems to lack the saving-the-world scope that most of your causes have."

"Mmmh," Enjolras says, non-commitally. His hand is heavy on Grantaire's back, and warm, and it feels so nice to just lay there, but Grantaire doesn't want to get comfortable because at any time Enjolras will remember about something very important that needs to do right now, and when that happens Grantaire isn't going to look disappointed or upset. "I thought you didn't believe in our causes," Enjolras says, thumb tracing small circles over Grantaire's back.

Grantaire looks up at Enjolras. From this angle, he can only make out his cheek, part of his ear and a couple of stray golden curls. "I don't. Naive view of the world, colossal waste of time, nothing will ever change, blah blah blah. But they're important to you, so..."

He trails off, sinking down into the pillow and rolling off Enjolras, staring at the ceiling. Enjolras sighs. "Grantaire," he says, and he's probably, no, he's certainly making the face, but Grantaire refuses to turn around, doesn't want to look at him while he hears his perfectly reasonable reasons for leaving.

Of course he's forgotten that Enjolras is bossy. So when Grantaire keeps staring dully ahead Enjolras takes his chin in one hand and makes him turn his head, gently but firmly. "R," he says, low. "Have you ever known me to do things half-assed?"

Grantaire hasn't. He looks at Enjolras and sees him frowning, but it's not the usual frown. It's like Enjolras is trying to frown but is still too fucked out to frown properly. It's a good look to him and it makes Grantaire's throat go dry, especially coupled with the way Enjolras is wincing as he scuttles closer, still sore from earlier, like he's still feeling Grantaire inside him. "No," Grantaire says, licking his lips. "You never do things half-assed, that's why I don't mind if you have to..."

"That's exactly why," Enjolras says, cutting him off. "You're important to me too, I wouldn't be with you if you weren't, so don't act like you're not. If we're together I don't want you to be just a bullet point on a list of things to do."

"Oh," says Grantaire in a small voice, trying not to get lost in Enjolras's eyes and thinking it's not fair. It's not at all fair because Enjolras has all this eloquence and he can make Grantaire melt from the inside, and all Grantaire can say in reply are inarticulate noises. Then they're kissing, slowly, until Grantaire loses track of everything but Enjolras's lips.

"Now," Enjolras says after the longest time, "shut up, stop squirming and let me cuddle you." His eyes look soft and a little unfocused.

Grantaire leans against Enjolras's chest and hears his heartbeat, just a bit faster than usual. "Shutting up, o fearless leader," he says, tucking his head under Enjolras's chin. "Shutting up now. Cuddle away." Their legs tangle together.


End file.
